Marks on the Wall
by ExiledInspiration
Summary: Written for the Portal kink meme on livejournal. The request was for Human!Wheatley/Chell with both being inexperienced with sex and some fluffy first time awkwardness on both their parts. Story set post Portal 2.


At the start of every new day, she adds another notch to the stick she's been carrying with her. It takes 14 notches before she stumbles across what appears to be a long deserted town. Many of the buildings have collapsed**,** roofs caved in, walls crumbled away to nothing, window shutters rotted and the paint flaked away on the ground. Cube tucked under one arm, she moves cautiously, in case the town isn't as deserted as it appears. By nightfall, she's encountered no one, so she picks the soundest structure she can find, a two level house where only the one wall on the main floor has given out, and decides it will suit her needs just fine. She chooses a room on the second floor, gathering linens and some blankets and making a nest-like bed for herself. She settles the cube nearby and falls asleep.

When she wakes the next morning, she decides to mark time on the wall, rather than on the stick. Each day, she explores the town, gathering food and supplies and even some weapons. Everything she deems useful is brought back to the house. Each day she pats the cube before she leaves to explore and pats it again at night, before settling herself for sleep. The day she marks her 31st mark on the wall, she discovers she isn't alone anymore.

She's going through an old carton of what appear to be flares of some kind, when she hears something break behind her. Instantly she's on her feet, facing the potential threat and drawing a knife from her belt. The figure is tall, very tall and shaped like a human being, though she's learned by now that that doesn't mean anything, really. Because he/she/it is standing in an open doorway leading out in the street, the sun is behind him/her/it and makes it impossible for her to make out features. Lacking a voice to demand who the person is, she bares her teeth and makes a distinct hissing sound. The figure recoils briefly, and then says, "Chell?"

She freezes.

The figure takes a step toward her, everything about his/her/its body language screaming fear and uncertainty. Now no longer backlit by the sun, she can make out features. The figure is male, and tall – very tall. She has to look up quite a ways to see his face. The face itself is fairly average, as far as Chell's limited memory of other humans goes. The hair is the colour of sand, not quite blond but not quite brown. His beard stubble is the same colour. The nose is somewhat beakish, she decides. It reminds of her of a bird. Above the nose is the feature she finds most fascinating – a pair of startlingly blue eyes, framed by sandy coloured lashes.

She takes a curious step toward the man, who hasn't moved. She wonders if she's dreaming, hallucinating. The man doesn't move an inch as she comes within touching distance, though she notices that his hands – and his long, long fingers- are shaking. He's afraid of her.

"I-" he starts, but trails off. A bead of sweat trickles down from his hairline. She watches its progress until it gets lost in his facial hair

Unexpectedly he drops to his knees in front of her and she looks at him in confusion.

"Chell, I… I don't deserve the chance to say this, but I need to say it and since I'm pretty sure I won't be around much longer, I'm just going to come out and say it now-" The words come out in a torrent and the more he speaks, the more familiar his voice is. "I'm sorry for what I did, I'm so- so sorry."

She knows who he is now with certainty, and marvels at this unexpected turn of events. It's Wheatley and she doesn't know how he got here or why he's human… but it is definitely Wheatley.

"I could lie to you, tell you it wasn't me – that it was all her programming and not mine, but that's not true and you deserve the truth. I let the power go to my head. I was angry, so angry at everything. Years of being called a moron, years of being left to my own devices to tend to humans who either died or were used up in testing. I betrayed you."

His blue eyes are wide, full of fear and …remorse? Yes, it's remorse, she decides.

"So, I'm here to tell you that I'm sorry - really sorry - and that you can," he swallows, "do whatever you want to me. I deserve it. I know I do."

He closes his eyes, waiting – waiting for her to what? Her eyes widen. Waiting for her to kill him.

She takes another step forward until she's a bare inch or two away from him, and his whole body tenses. He doesn't open his eyes until the knife clatters to the ground. The look of absolute confusion on his face only intensifies when he realizes that she has crouched before him, resting on the balls of her feet. She smiles at him and his voice breaks when he asks, "Why?"

She can't answer him, much as she wants to. She considers for a moment, and then shows him with actions instead of words. She lays the palm of one hand gently on his cheek. He looks at her, blue eyes wide and begins to shake, his whole body trembling. She stands then, noting with some amusement that because of his height, with him on his knees, he still comes up to just past her waist. She smiles again, and wraps her arms around his head and shoulders. He shakes against her, tears – real human tears- soaking her shirt. She strokes the sandy coloured hair as he mumbles, "I'm sorry luv, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," over and over again against her abdomen.

When he finally stops crying and looks up at her with red-rimmed eyes, she mouths, "_I forgive you_," and wipes a tear away with her thumb.

He's uncharacteristically silent as she offers him her hand to rise to his feet. When he tries to pull away, she holds tightly to his hand and shakes her head. He smiles and hand in hand she takes him back to the house.

He takes note of everything in the house, the odd assortment of things she has collected. She lets him, watching with interest as he picks up objects and returns them to their places after inspecting them. He is so fascinated by touching things, which makes sense given that now he can – he has hands.

When he turns his attention back to her, she smiles at him and he smiles back at her.

Unable to wait any longer, she 'asks' the question that has been on her mind since she realized who he was. She makes the shape of a circle, in the approximate size he was as a core then points to him, lets the question show on her face.

She watches him take a deep breath, "_She_ did this."

They both know who She is. GLadOS.

"She… she wanted more test subjects so she brought me back from space and… she… I woke up in this body. I wasn't very good at the tests, as I'm sure you can imagine. She told me I was such a moron that I wasn't even worth using in the tests. So she turned me loose." His eyes close and he falls silent, unwilling or unable to say more. She doesn't hold it against him.

Chell nods, then motions for him to come sit by her.

He does so, though she can tell he's deeply uncertain about how to act around her. She reaches and takes one of his large hands in her small one and squeezes.

"I still don't understand why you're being so nice to me-"she cuts off his words with a finger placed against his lips.

When she's sure she has his full attention, her lips move silently. "_We've all done things we're not proud of_."

They settle into a routine, surprisingly quickly. Chell marks another 6 days on the wall (37 days), and already it feels like Wheatley has been here with her all along. Each morning they rise, take care of whatever they need to and venture off exploring. At night they return to the house, sort their acquisitions and prepare to sleep. They've made a nest-bed for him as well, larger than hers of course to accommodate his height, his longer limbs. She lets herself grow accustomed to falling asleep each night to the sound of his breathing.

She teaches him how to shave, a process he finds strange. The day she goes after his beard with a razor, he tells her that the whole process of growing hair is "downright odd, that is," and she laughs silently at him. Wheatley learns, he adapts.

He begins to talk more and more each day, but never quite reaches the seemingly endless chatter she remembers from their days at Aperture. After days of silence, she finds his companionship comforting, familiar. There are times she wishes she could add her own voice to his, to be able to converse properly, but he seems perfectly willing to watch her lips until he's able to work out what she means. The times she wishes she could speak the most are when he has nightmares. The first two times he has nightmares she crawls over to him, and perches on the edge of his nest so he realizes he isn't back at Aperture. So he realizes he's not alone. He clings to her hand, words spilling from his lips – about space, darkness, about waking up in a human body he had no idea what to do with - and she listens, sits with him until he falls asleep again. Chell understands nightmares.

On the third night where he wakes thrashing, his body drenched with sweat – another 20 marks on the wall (57 days) - she simply climbs into his nest with him, wraps her small body around his and holds him. He shakes against her and she smoothes his hair, runs her hand up and down his arm until he relaxes. His voice sounds rough when he says, "Thank you, luv." She presses a kiss to the back of his head.

"Chell?"

She waits.

"Nevermind."

She kisses his head again, and when she hears his breathing even out, she allows herself to fall back asleep.

21 marks on the wall (58 days) and she makes a decision as he prepares for bed. She catches his attention and motions from herself, to his nest.

"What?" he asks, "you want to sleep here?"

She nods.

"With me?"

She nods again.

She can see him swallow, and then his face is lit up by a huge grin. "Brilliant."

His turns his back to her, pulls off his shirt, and lays it over the back of a broken chair to re-wear the next day. Chell catches sight of a criss-cross of scars that start just below his left shoulder and extend down to just below the end of his rib cage.

She raps on the floor to get his attention and he turns toward her, puzzled. She walks toward him, and mimes that she's going to touch him. He nods uncertainly, but doesn't try to stop her.

She reaches out and touches the white scar tissue, trailing her fingers along it.

She's lost in her examination when he says, "There're more than that, luv."

She looks up at him curiously.

"You want to see?"

She nods. She does. She makes a motion, trying to get across the idea of 'I'll show you mine, if you show me yours'.

He hesitates before removing the khaki pants he's taken to wearing since they burned his orange Aperture coveralls. He stands before her, wearing only his underthings and she walks around him slowly, taking in each sign that testing has left imprinted on his body. There's a long scar on the back of his left leg, right above where the top of his Long-Fall boots would have rested. There's a patch of scar tissue, this one much redder, newer than the others on his right side, just beneath the bottom of his rib cage. She touches each one gently, learning the topography of his skin.

Soon he's trembling and she looks up at him alarmed. Her lips form a silent question.

"I – I'm just not used to … this. Feeling this. Your hands are doing funny things to me and I don't quite understand."

Oh. She steps away from him, pulls her own shirt over her head and removes her pants, standing in front of him in only her bra and underwear. She motions for him to have a look and he moves toward her uncertainly. She lets him look, lets him touch and learn each mark on her own body, some from her first venture through Aperture, some from the second. He seems most interested in the one on her neck, hidden by her dark hair. He runs a finger along it, and it's her turn to shiver. He pulls his hand away from her neck.

"You too?" he asks softly. She nods, seeing no point in hiding it. It was a nice feeling. She turns her head to look at him over her shoulder, motions that he can continue if he wants to. A moment's hesitation and he resumes touching the scar on her neck. She closes her eyes and enjoys the sensation.

They go on like that for several minutes, before she turns toward him again and stands up on her toes. He looks confused, and then understanding seems to set in. He wraps his arms around her waist and hoists her up so their faces are level. "That what you wanted then, luv?"

She smiles at him shyly, then leans forward and presses her lips against his. He makes a startled noise. It comes out like "urk" and she laughs silently again. She pulls away slightly, trying to gauge his expression to see if she should continue or stop. He answers the question for her when he pulls her back toward him again. This time they bump noses and it's his turn to laugh. "Sorry**,** luv**.** Clearly I haven't gotten this whole being human thing quite figured out yet. Clumsy me." She leans in again, kisses him a second time and this time their noses don't collide. The noise he makes this time is less of a squawk and decidedly more like a soft moan. She pulls away in concern and he pulls her back immediately. "No, please, do that again."

She does so, wrapping her legs around his waist and kissing his lips, his cheeks, and his chin. She can feel her heartbeat increasing and feels breathless. This whole experience is something new and she wants to devote more attention to it.

Wheatley moves his hands, lets them wander across the skin of her back. She shivers, presses herself against him. "I've come to the conclusion that kissing is brilliant," he says, before managing to capture her lips against his again. When they break apart, she motions with her head in the direction of his nest and he dutifully carries her over to it, carefully getting in without putting her down. She's on top of him now and it feels… wonderful. She smiles down at him and he looks up at her with those blue, blue eyes. Unexpectedly, there's a look of fear again. Her smile disappears, and she wonders if she has done something wrong.

"No luv, no." he says immediately when he sees her expression. "It's not you. It's … I feel like… I feel like I did when … during the testing. The itch is back."

Oh. _Oh._ Clarity comes in a rush and she smiles again. All that time when she was being tested, she never understood what he was describing. His need that could only be fulfilled when she completed a test. She understands now. She mimes touching him, seeking permission and he nods. "Yeah. I trust you. Go ahead."

She pulls herself up, slides off him until she's beside him in the nest and resting on her side. Then she reaches into his underpants. His breath catches and his eyes go wide.

"Is… is it supposed to do that?" he whispers. She nods. She kisses him again, smiling against his mouth before she touches him with intent.

"Chell, I …oh." His eyes go wider. "Please do that…"

She lets her hand wander, and then motions for him to remove the bit of fabric between them. He can't seem to pull them off fast enough and she throws her head back in silent laughter. As soon as the underwear is gone, she returns her hand to exploring.

He gasps, his eyes closing. She touches his face with her free hand and his eyes open, the pupils dilated. She takes one of his hands and brings it up to her chest. "You want me to…?"

She rolls her eyes at him good naturedly, her expression making her desire clear. "_Duh._"

He reaches over and touches one of her breasts and she feels a wave of something wonderful pass over her. It must show on her face, because now he's smiling. "Liked that?"

She nods emphatically. She stops touching him, just long enough to remove the bra and throw it across the room. He starts to laugh and as she resumes her exploration, he begins his. One of her breasts disappears into his hand, and he gently runs his fingers along the skin before touching her nipple. If she could talk, that probably would have come out as a squeak. As it is, she manages an audible sharp intake of breath.

She understands what they are doing from an academic point of view. She understands the theory. No one ever told her how the theory paled in comparison to the real experience.

Unexpectedly, Wheatley pulls her back on top of him, so she's lying flush against him. "I don't… I don't really know what I'm doing," he admits softly.

She moves her lips, "_We'll figure it out_."

She shifts against him, eliciting a groan from him and does it again, and again.

He's hard against her and she feels a warmth gathering between her legs. "Chell..."

He starts to pull at her panties and she lets him, wiggling a bit to help him get them off. Now there's nothing between them all and this time when she rubs against him, he groans against her breasts, before taking a nipple into his mouth. She can feel her breathing speed up and hears his doing the same.

She shifts against him once more, and then raises herself up and lowers down again until she can wraps herself around his penis. He lets out a gasp. She looks at him in concern, and he shakes his head. "Keep going. Please, please, please." She experiences a moment of pain, but really after everything she's gone through, this minuscule pain is hardly worth noticing. Not when everything else feels so damn good.

They struggle to work out a rhythm, to find something that works for both of them. He takes hold of her just above her waist to keep her steady and through a process of trial and error they move, each making the occasional noise of pleasure.

She rubs against him, feeling things building – wonderful, and amazing, and fantastic things. She forces herself to keep her eyes open, to watch his face and gauge his reactions. She watches his chest rise and fall as he moves beneath her. She can feel sweat breaking out on her skin and sees that the same thing is happening to him.

"Chell, Chell, Chell…" he says softly over and over again. A mantra, almost like a prayer.

She moves her own lips silently, his name on them even if she can't actually speak it.

She moves again, pressing herself as far down as she can and sees light explode behind her eyes. He cries out once, and then she collapses against his chest and they're both clinging to each other and shaking.

They lie still, and Chell waits for her breathing to return to normal. Finally, she raises her head to look at him, nibbling on her lower lip.

The look on his face can only be described as beatific. He's grinning at her. "That was… amazing."

She rises off him enough so they can detach and she winces.

Instantly his smile is gone. "Oh no, luv. Did I hurt you?"

She waves her hand dismissively and shakes her head. Smiles. He relaxes.

She curls up against him, resting her ear against his chest and listens to his heartbeat. He lazily runs his fingers along her spine and she sighs contentedly.

Finally she takes a deep breath. "Thank you." The words come out barely above a whisper, but he hears them anyway. He tucks a hand under her chin, moves her head so he can look at her face.

"You… spoke." His tone is filled with awe. "You actually spoke."

She nods. "Hard." She manages to get out. "Forgot…"

"You forgot how?" he asks. She nods again.

"Showed me." She points to him.

"I showed you." She nods.

He starts to laugh, pulls her back on top of him, and wraps his arms around her. She grins against his chest, nuzzles it with her face.

She tilts her head up toward him.

"Hm?" he asks.

She smiles coyly. "Again?"

"Oh yes."


End file.
